


The Manic

by ifucked_thatburrito



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Drunk Elves, Fluff, M/M, My poor bby, alcoholic, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7762108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifucked_thatburrito/pseuds/ifucked_thatburrito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cedric gets drunk and visits Iorveth. Fluff ensues.</p><p>Inspired by the lovely artwork of sebesun on tumblr, this piece specifically -> http://sebesun.tumblr.com/post/97877947265/i-can-see-a-drunk-off-his-rocker-cedric-going-out</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Manic

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> I just want to apologise to anyone who has been waiting for the second chapter of this story. Some problems have arisen in my family and it has made it incredibly difficult for me to write very much. I will try to finish this story, but I fear that it will take a while :( Thank you for being so patient with me.
> 
> Unbeta'd :)
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Cáemm, minne - Come, love
> 
> anwylyd - dear
> 
> anwylyd is not a word in the Elder Speech, but I needed an endearment and Welsh was the most heavily drawn from language for the elder speech.

He didn’t even feel the burn anymore, the slide of strong vodka down his throat almost as smooth as water, his nerves fried from the centuries of drinking the stuff. It was well past midnight, and Cedric was atop his little watch tower in Lobinden, glazed eyes gazing into the dark abyss of the forest, his mind blanketed by a thick coating of curdled, alcohol-induced fog to block out the visions he’d been blessed, nay, _cursed_ with.

He had been perfectly happy before the visions, gallivanting about the countryside, sometimes alone, sometimes with Iorveth, stirring up all kinds of trouble with the reckless young elf. They would spend hours sneaking around, gossiping about the other Scoia’tael in their unit, the dh’oines, the consistency of squirrel droppings…

He sniffed contemptuously at the now empty bottle, his mouth curled into a snarl as he shakily pulled himself up, almost braining himself on a branch in the process. He needed more vodka if he was going to think about shit like this.

20 minutes and 3 bruises later, the elf returned to his spot on the balcony, suitably plied with more alcohol. Cedric sat at the edge for a while, quietly reminiscing about his time in the Scoia’tael, attempting to absorb the tranquil beauty of the dense forest into himself, and trying to convince himself to keep living with the dh’oines instead of fleeing to the relative safety of the woodlands with his kin. He remembered the calm days, the quiet days. The ones spent with his best friend, lying in the trees in blissful contentment, with moments of harsh breaths and wandering hands flickering in his mind’s eye.

The aen seidhe rubbed at his face roughly, a resigned groan escaping his lips. Cedric once again stumbled to his feet, his head swimming rather unpleasantly. He leaned on the large oak tree as he made his way down to the ground. With a sudden impulse to find the Scoia’tael commander overwhelming his better judgement, he stumbled into the gloom.

“Iorveth… Iorveth? Ior…veth.” He muttered senselessly into the dark as he made his drunken way towards where he hoped was still the elf’s hideout.

As he approached the mouth of the cave, he tripped on a large tree root, falling limply to his hands and knees, the damp smell of moist earth filling his nostrils as he was crushed into the dirt, a heavy boot between his shoulder blades and a familiar voice assaulting his ears.  
“Speak. Quickly. Who trespasses here?”

Iorveth.

He scrambled for words, his addled brain fumbling over potentially witty answers before, “Cedric.” flopped off of his tongue and into the air, which almost visibly froze as the elf above him did. The boot was quickly removed from his back and strong hands carefully lifted him off the ground and onto his feet.

“Cedr-” Iorveth started before the former Scoia’tael flung his arms around his neck in a tight hug.

“I missed you so much. I couldn’t stop thinking of you, I…” the elf sobbed into the Commander’s fleeced shoulder.

Iorveth wrinkled his nose at the pungent scent of alcohol that emanated from his former lover, but he curled his arms around the drunk elf and held him tight, rubbing his back in light circles as Cedric spewed more nonsensical babble.

“Dh’oine aren’t that bad…” Cedric mumbled into his shoulder, tears wetting the fabric, but reconsidered his words, “Well, maybe they are, but still! Why must you keep attacking them when we could be peaceful? It’s bad for you to be so angry all the time.” He pulled back to take a closer look at Iorveth’s face, noticing the ugly scar marring his exquisite features, and letting out a pale gasp. “Oh, your eye...” he muttered. Elegant fingers grazing over the red fabric covering the gaping whole that was left in place of his eye.

Iorveth jerked his head away from the comforting touch, and clasped the hand in his rougher, calloused one, lacing long fingers together.  
“Why are you here Cedric? Why are you here and not with your precious dh'oines?”

Cedric flinched. He didn't want to leave the Scoia'tael unit, but their methods of regaining freedom were too violent, and the visions that plagued his mind only showed him ruin and death. He couldn't stand for it any longer. So he left, and never turned back because he couldn't bare to see that quickly concealed look of betrayal on Iorveth's face.

"I wished to see you again." he admitted quietly, "I couldn't stop thinking of you, the unit, the times we spent in the the trees and.. other things."

Iorveth's breath hitched at the words, but he quickly recovered himself. He spoke slowly, with purpose, "You're drunk Cedric. Go back to your hovel and you'll forget this in the morning."

"I'm always drunk nowadays..." was the pale reply.

The elf let out a long-suffering sigh, and relented, "Cáemm, minne."

Cedric followed Iorveth into his cave. The refreshing smell of the forest replaced by the cold, wet scent of moss and wet stone, coupled with the metallic tang of the weapons and clingy sword oil. His steps were uneven and haphazard as he was dragged towards a small fire and cloth hammock hanging between two out-standing rocks.

The almost-silence was broken with a small cough, "You will rest here until dawn, then you will have to leave."

Cedric nodded, but still clung to Iorveth side. With a confused look the elf peeled him off and eased him down onto the hammock.

The former Scoia'tael looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth agape as he reached up to touch his face, "I still love you Iorveth." he stated, as if shocked by his own admission.

Iorveth tensed, but gave Cedric a watery smile, "Rest."

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a second chapter to this once I have finished it (or a direct sequel :)) I will have to bump up the rating to M or E for noodling, general PWithP and debauchery ;) Feel free to give constructive criticisms and feedback because none of my work is beta'd.


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